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caxxiopeia · 2 years

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Feel free to ignore this

Tw: suicide, Tw: hospitalization

I just need to write this down somewhere and I don’t have anyone to talk to about it. I was hospitalized last March for overdosing on my anti-anxiety meds to try and kill myself. Not really important why, basically I was just extremely stressed about school and executive dysfunction and depression was kicking my ass. So they held me in the psych ward for two weeks and one of the psychiatrists suggested trying ADHD meds. I’ve suspected that I have ADHD for a while but I’ve never told anyone because I don’t have any of the stereotypical symptoms and I thought no one would take me seriously. I’m not hyperactive at all, my thoughts typically don’t run at superspeed, coffee gives me energy and more than two cups a day makes me anxious when I’ve heard it settles people with ADHD, I don’t lose or forget things that often, I can keep pretty good track of the time, I read lots so it’s clear I can focus if I want to, I didn’t have too much trouble focusing in school (unless the teacher was just plain lecturing and I didn’t have anything to do or look at). That last one might be a point towards ADHD now that I think about it. I’m extremely shy and quiet and do things meticulously instead of fast. The main thing I do have is wicked executive dysfunction to the point I’m bedridden sometimes, but that’s not exclusive to ADHD. Also little things like I can talk wayy too fast, boredom is physically painful, I have horrible time management, I get sidetracked with little tasks that I’ll spend way too long doing (ie. cleaning the dried paint off the lids of my paint bottles for a few hours instead of going to bed because my brain decided that needed to get done right that moment).

Anyway the psychiatrist put me on a stimulant like Adderall. Dextroamphetamine or something. At first it made my heart beat a bit faster and I felt anxiety without actually feeling anxious if that makes sense. Since I was in the psych ward there weren’t a lot of things to distract me in the first place (phone, netflix) but I found doing schoolwork easier. That psychiatrist was replaced and the new one (still not my current one) didn’t prescribe it which I only found out after I was released and went to the pharmacy to pick it up. However I got a text like a week after that saying it had been prescribed and it was ready to pick up. So not sure what happened there, if the old psychiatrist talked to the new one or what. I’ve been on it since then. The physical effects went away and it seemed to help for a while especially with the executive dysfunction. Something else happened and I ended up back in the psych ward in June where they increased the dose of my anti-depressant and added a new anti-anxiety medication for sleep. They kept the stimulant the same. But now my appetite has been shot to shit. It started June 15 (I remember cause it was my birthday) and it hasn’t picked up to before-hospital levels since. Most days I’m eating maybe 500 calories. I’ve lost 10 pounds and my period is late when it’s usually scarily regular. I try to eat and it’s like every part of my body is rejecting the food. Even drinking is hard sometimes. I’d almost compare it to my mom when she was on chemo, it’s that bad. I talked to my family doctor, a nurse and doctor on my province’s medical help line, and my psychiatrist. All of them say it’s from a different medication. My family doctor couldn’t do much of anything since she didn’t prescribe it and I’d need to get my psychiatrist to transfer my care over to her before she can. The nurse said it was likely the medication they increased and I could tell she was researching the medications while I was talking to her. She was the most help and she thought I might have had mild to moderate dehydration as well since I wasn’t drinking much of anything either. She set me up with a doctor who said it was the medication they introduced for sleep instead. And basically that I should try eating. As if I was just choosing not to. My psychiatrist told me it was unlikely to be the anti-depressant they increased even though it’s one of the first and most common side effects you see for it online.

But there seems to be a consensus that if I had to go off a medication it would have to be the stimulant. I tried that for a few days and my energy was so low I had to stay in the car while my sister went grocery shopping. I couldn’t do anything. My appetite did get a bit better but I’d rather starve than feel like that. Here’s the problem though. Does that mean I’m addicted? It’s basically speed right? And aren’t ADHD meds supposed to calm you down and focus you rather than give you energy? And neurotypicals use Adderall recreationally for energy, so isn’t that what I’m doing? But if it gets me out of bed and able to care for myself does it matter? I don’t want to bring this up to anyone because I’m afraid they’ll say “nope that’s not how people with ADHD react to this medication so we’re not prescribing it” and not give me another method for handling The Symptoms. And I don’t wanna make a big deal out of my appetite thing for the same reason. It’s easier for a psychiatrist or doctor to remove a medication rather than switch up another one or change the dose. Should I stick to my guns and insist I have ADHD even when I’m not sure myself? Could my low energy and executive dysfunction be from depression even if none of the treatments and therapy I’ve had for that changes anything? What if they’re working off of the stereotypical hyperactive pre-teen boy image as the default patient? Because when you compare me to that I definitely don’t have ADHD.

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demi360flip · 4 years

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Why I’m here

I’ve had a pretty difficult life, I think. Nobody on this earth even knows how bad it’s been. It’s been a bit of a rollercoaster; there have been times where it’s been bad that I didn’t want to continue living. There have been other times where things have improved and I’ve held (seemingly false) hope that things would be better. Or that I actually had a shot at a normal life, only to have that dream crushed time and time again.

In the last year, my life has been turned upside down. Now, it wasn’t all roses and unicorns before this year, but it’s hard to remember a time where I’ve felt so lost. Even after my older brother killed someone and was sent to prison for vehicular manslaughter shaming our family in a whole new way. During the last 365 days, I’ve been challenged by God in many ways. I lost gymnastics and those wonderful children that looked up to me and needed me. I lost EMS and the aspect of helping people. I lost the fire department. I lost every friend I’ve ever had. I started again in a new city, in a new state, in a new home. I was finally away from it all, which left me in a bizarre mixed state of ecstasy for escaping and complete panic for leaving.

During the last 365 days, I jumped into one of the most cutthroat programs in the country, where missing even one multiple choice question on a test could mean the end of your dreams. I found myself redlining in a stressed state of mind, desperately counting every single point I missed, paralyzed in stress on my couch crying before exam grades came out. Only to have 8 people texting me asking me what I got so they could compare themselves to me. I had to study for all hours of the day, all while balancing eating (even though I was so strung out on Adderall that I had no appetite), taking care of my dog (who got little attention in my new lifestyle), taking care of an entire house and paying all the bills alone for the first time (with money from a staggering medical school loan that will cripple me for years to come), and maintain a long distance relationship (that I KNEW I didn’t have time for, but absolutely couldn’t live without).

During the last 365 days, my older brother was released from state prison. It didn’t come easy either, in the months leading up to the parole meeting and subsequent release from a 4 year hell-on-Earth, he AND my mother would both call me every single day crying and talking about whether or not he will be released. It took so much of my time and energy that I already didn’t have. It was exhausting. I would get off of the phone with one, after talking them down from crying, and the next would call. My grades suffered. On top of that, I was having to discover how I would have a relationship again with a brother that I so despised for ruining my life and family. He was the cause of my mother’s drinking. In my eyes, Dennis was the cause of every pain I’ve ever felt in my life. Now, he would call me begging for his forgiveness, crying to me about how proud he was of me for “holding it down” after his mistakes and taking care of the family in his wake of destruction. Little did he know, I was struggling to breathe. Now, I had to face rebuilding some sort of relationship with him. Was I supposed to be forgiving? Was I supposed to hold onto this pain and anger at him? Was I supposed to be there to support him and be there for him like all of the counselors said I needed to? Was I supposed to tread carefully? There was a difficult level of awkwardness there that couldn’t be denied. Do I give him the benefit of the doubt that he would come out and do right for the first time in his life? Or do I honor the pattern of destruction that he’s caused my whole life? I didn’t know whether to believe him or not- did he REALLY change?

During the last 365 days, I lost a mentor and important person in my life to cancer. Irv Isenberg was the reason I was here. He was the reason why I did EMS. He lit the fire in me to help and teach others. He was the reason why I was able to get into LECOM’s program from hell. He was the best man I had ever known. And he was a line-of-duty death from 9-11-2001. He’s battled the cancer from the warzone that was NYC on 9-11 for many years. But this was finally the end and the rapid decline. It comes out of nowhere, you know? One day, it’s just a thing that everyone knows about *oh, Irv had cancer*, but he’s still going on calls, shooting, smiling, working, and you kind of just forget about it. I’m going to coffee with him, texting him, everything is moving on like usual. Then it creeps in a little more- he’s facebooking sarcastic, funny posts about his experiences at Roswell Park, you know he’s going through chemo and radiation, and he comes around a little less. But he and I were still getting our Tim Horton’s coffee every time I was home. We would sit there and talk about school and what I needed to do next, who I needed to get in contact with, and the next connections I had to make. Everything was still fine. Then suddenly, I don’t see him anymore. He knows that I cry when I hear his voice hoarse from radiation, so he lies to me and texts me instead. He tells me he’s at the dog park, when I know that he’s at Roswell for treatment. He and I don’t get coffee anymore. Instead, we just text back and forth and he tells me “When you’re Doctor Demi, that’ll be all the thanks I need”. There were whispers around the fire department, about how he stopped working, and “isn’t doing well”. Soto calls me to tell me that he needs platelets. He stops answering my texts, or Lisa answers them instead for him. I rushed home on an exam week to donate platelets, which was far worse than I expected. I was sick during and after extraction. They said I was too skinny and that’s why. I had lost 20 lbs from the stress and Adderall. But I had the blood type they needed and I wasn’t leaving there without donation. Then about a week later, he died. I got the call. I came home on an exam week again for the wake. Danny had amazingly rapidly organized the most beautiful wake, procession, and funeral that I’ve ever even heard of. When I walked into the wake, there were pictures of Irv and I in the slideshow and on the picture boards. It was surreal. Chris and Julie Kaplewicz pulled me in line with them. I said, “I’m not really sure where I belong”, as I’m no longer a FF, I wasn’t with TCA, and I wasn’t family. “You belong right here with us”. We proceeded slowly through the line to the closed casket with his helmet on it. There were 2 of our FF’s on the sides of his casket holding axes- it was Brad and MJ. When they saw me, they kept their eyes up, but tears rolled down both of their faces. I cried. I kissed his helmet. Lisa hugged me and said, “Oh honey, he loved you so much. I’m going to keep in touch with you”. My heart was in pieces. He wouldn’t make it to see me get my white coat, which would be entirely his doing in my mind.

During the last 365 days, for the first time in my whole life, I got my mom sober. The reign of alcoholism and physical and emotional abuse to our family was finally exiled by my brave actions. I thought I’d never see the day. Well, this is one of those “seemingly false hope” instances I had mentioned earlier. I don’t know exactly how long after this victory that she relapsed, but my little brother (who is more like a child to me, as I’ve effectively raised him in the face of two absent and inadequate parents) called me crying saying that he found booze hidden in her room. From another state away, I had to comfort this teenager who revealed to me that he has been struggling with the same depression and self-loathing that I had continuously battled since my prepubescent years, which I spent cutting myself and running away from home. The thought of Mikey feeling any of the feelings that I struggled with due to our dysfunctional abusive family brought me to my knees. After all, I had dedicated my whole existence to lessening the weight of it all on him and shielding him from as much as I could. I thought, “I can save him from this hell and give him a shot at a normal life”. This was wishful thinking. Especially after leaving my entire life in Buffalo behind, to try to chase my dreams that I have had on hold for so long due to my fucked up family arrangement. In doing so, I also left behind everyone and everything that held me up. I didn’t realize that my skin was made of paper and my bones were broken and made of glass, until I moved away and left behind everyone and everything else that held me up. I found that I could not stand on my own two feet. And boy, did I crumble. I had always thought that I was so STRONG. This incredible superhero that could withstand a lifetime of abuse and dysfunction and no support and no love, and STILL have the strength to protect another younger brother from it. I looked in the mirror and knew. I was a failure. I was disgusted. I finally could see it- I wasn’t strong. I was weak and dependent on the love, support, and distraction of others to hold myself up on my own two feet. It was a difficult realization that I was nothing without my friends, my boyfriend, his family (who replaced mine, but wasn’t TRULY mine), and my job that I loved. I saw myself. Ugly. Weak.

Now, I don’t want this to be some sort of pity party. Of course, I’ve done some pretty badass things in my life. I’m physically healthy, which is more than some people can say, and I’m fortunate to have the means of following my dreams. I’ve met some incredible people in this lifetime- many of which have changed my life and kept me going when I didn’t have the inner strength to do so. One of those people was Gage Greiner. And I lost him, too.

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nicolekidmanwigfactory · 6 years

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ok, so listen to the shit my psychiatrist told me yesterday because IT. IS. JUICY. (TW: eating disorders)

i need to vent but here’s a read more in case you wanna skip this because this is LOOOOOONG

i was describing to her how i’m currently pricing out personal trainers to help me start exercising again in a healthy, non-disordered way because the last three times (in the past 18-24 months or so) that I tried to start working out again, I found myself spiraling and getting overly anxious or unrealistic about my goals, so i’d either overexercise, restrict, and/or purge.

as i described the height of my exercise compulsion-- highest intensity elliptical for 60 minutes or 2000 calories burned (whichever came second) every single day, no exception (Sundays were my off day and I relished them)-- from seven years ago, which was worse than the actual bulimia at times, she just cut me off and said an hour a day wasn’t too bad, ignoring 1. the 2000 calories thing, 2. that i weighed about 130lbs less I do now, and 3. i was either severely restricting or compensating for binge behaviors from voracious appetite swings 4. caused by hormonal fluctuations 5. due to then-undiagnosed thyroid cancer.

BUT WAIT. THERE’S MORE. then she laid into my dietitian and said eating disorder dietitians in general are overly focused on “making sure their patients are comfortable eating” instead of losing weight (if they're ones who need to, of course). ummm...getting me less regimented in my eating is the fucking point. i’d eat something i wasn’t “supposed” to and then purge it somehow (exercise, vomit, restriction, etc.). <-- that’s the fucking basics of the fucking disorder, and that’s not even explicitly mentioning the mental illness aspect.

again, she told ME, A LONG-DIAGNOSED, DEPRESSED GRADUATE STUDENT WITH A HISTORY OF TREATMENT FOR BULIMIA AND OTHER EATING DISORDERS that i need to lose weight. Yes, i know that. does she really think i don’t know that? i wear my clothes and look in the mirror and have been in eating disorder treatment for the past five fucking years. what makes her think this is news to me? does she not think i don’t remember how I bust my ass off to healthily lose 100 pounds in college, and then gained it all back (and then some) in FOUR FUCKING MONTHS when my bulimia turned into binge eating disorder and my EATING-DISORDER AND QUASI-SUICIDAL MIND tricked myself into thinking this was the healthier option?! BECAUSE I SURE AS HELL REMEMBER. she does have the point that my weight is not healthy in the long-term (of course i know that), but neither is a fucking depression and any kind of eating disorder.

i WANT to lose weight but my dietitian agreed to work with me on the condition that my focus COULD NOT be on losing weight (she was gonna work with me no matter what, but she’s a genius with how she approaches her clients) until my eating patterns were stable and the frequency of my disordered behaviors dropped dramatically (which they have- i’ve only purged ONCE in the past year. My binges are not just far and in between but also much smaller and cheaper than they used to be). so if she’s gonna come after my dietitian, this psychiatrist is also coming after me because i would not be where i am without her (+ my therapist).

okay, i did expect some of this coming into the appointment though, so i did subject myself to this a little. she said some of this stuff in october at the first appointment i had with her but i was able to talk back against it in my head and discuss it with my therapist and i didn’t think about it again for a couple weeks. but the shit she was saying yesterday was just so much more inappropriate and insensitive that I only tolerate it for the refills on my meds.

i’m not saying she’s an awful psychiatrist. i just feel she needs to work on her bedside manner, or at least with her overweight eating disordered patients (because we already feel pretty shitty about that, and you don’t even need to have an eating disorder to feel that) or she needs more training in eating disorder treatment protocol. at one point in both appointments, she implied with the subtlety of a sledgehammer that it won’t be possible for me to have good self-esteem at my current size and weight, which completely defeats the point of body positivity and loving yourself at any size (FYI: Loving yourself at any size ≠ pro-obesity. Anyone who says otherwise is looking for a socially acceptable way to hate on fat people. The key word is “any.”).

All this said, she is a capable clinician. the medication regimen she has me on is working beautifully. my depression is so much more stable and the highs and lows of my mood are more like speed bumps and potholes than the mountains and ocean trenches of before. my anxiety is under much better control too (though a lot of that is because of the strategies I’ve been working on with my wonderful therapist) and the anxiety is also more situational. after all, i did go a gay bar by myself last weekend for the first time ever (it was at 2:00 on a Sunday afternoon, but i still did it despite the anxiety!).

I am also so appreciative of her ADHD diagnosis. I was apprehensive at first because the diagnosis was so quick and not even the focus of the appointment, but the medication she put me on is working. i thought that high school killed any enjoyment i once had for serious, intellectual reading, but since the medication i’ve started paging through the plethora of books i’ve bought over the years but never read and gotten absorbed by random pages even though i don’t know what’s going on. I don’t remember the last time was able to concentrate for extended periods of times without a deadline or outside pressure. i can read lengthy journal articles in record time and still absorb the information. the only downside is they kill my appetite, which she admitted she is part of the reason why prescribed them for me. (this part i’m not that upset about since i have been on binge suppressants for years and I see this as an additional tool- I’ve had no urge to abuse them other than the ED voice that instinctually tells me to, but I’ve just ignored it from the beginning).

so even though she is highly insensitive to my needs, she is also a highly capable and otherwise qualified psychiatrist. however, during therapy today, i discussed her comments with my therapist and that I would continue to see her while i searched/waited for an appointment with a different psychiatrist, since I had to wait 7 months to see this current doctor. instead, my therapist jumped on the phone, called a couple numbers and was able to get me an appointment with a psychiatrist she trusted for right after the new year. so i only have to see this current one once more and that’s only so I can get refills and continue my current medication regiment, which been working wonderfully for me.

i didn’t mean to make this so long but it feels good to get this out. my clinician is gonna inform my dietitian (which is making me impatient for my next appointment because she was ready beat a bitch last time because of this doctor and i want to see what she has to say this time) and then, if i didn’t mind, she wanted to bring this up with some managers at her location. i don’t care if she informs some higher ups, i just don’t want my name to get back to the psychiatrist until after the next/last appointment. i’m also going to file a complaint, not for vengeance or anything, just so her superiors can hopefully let her know how other patients might interpret her comments.

at least for me, this psychiatrist’s comments aren’t about me not being able to handle what i don’t want to hear. they were unprofessional, inappropriate, and frankly, uninformed and dangerous. if i hadn’t been further along in my recovery, i might have been liable to abuse my adderall as an appetite suppressant for weight loss purposes, start exercising and dieting again when i’m not mentally ready, or just accept her fat-shaming for what it wasn’t since since it was coming out of the mouth of an MD.

But I’m lucky to be in a place where I can recognize those comments for what they are. And I give credit to my therapist and dietitian, who’ve gotten me that place in the past year and a half (and I guess the current psychiatrist deserves some credit too for her medication regimen that was effective right off the bat, but that’s where I’ll leave it). And to the therapists, dietitians, and doctors I’ve have in the past five years, but mostly to my current ones, because they got me back on track when I moved back to WI and then further along than I have ever gotten before. Their voices are nagging in my ear to myself credit to, so I guess I played my part too.

@lorinwasadiver let me know when you’ve read this bc i want to know your angry thoughts

#tw eating disorder #depression

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